Parallels
by Brandywine421
Summary: An exploration of what the Finale could be possibly. Kirsten and Ryan's POV.


**_Disclaimer: I don't own anything OC related.  
AN: My version of a finale possibility._ **

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* * *

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**11pm**

* * *

She didn't want to get out of bed for the rest of the week. Fuck Sandy. Fuck all the sympathetic Newpsies. 

The funeral had been hard enough. Sandy's disappointed concerned eyes were like a coating on her skin, she couldn't get it off. She couldn't shake his stare.

Her father thought she was an alcoholic? She'd prove him fucking right.

Julie Cooper acting like she hadn't wished him dead. Crying in her black designer dress at the funeral.

There should be a special place in hell for her.

And then the party, the wake after the funeral. Hailey insisted that it be at the house, once again oblivious to everyone around her. Hanging off Jimmy's arm while Jimmy locked eyes with Julie at every opportunity.

Hypocrites. So what if she drank. At least she wasn't a hypocrite.

Sanctimonious Sandy could shove his rehab up his ass.

She didn't care that he was gone to a hotel.

She didn't care. She had other things to think about.

The alcohol was the only thing she wanted to think about. It might be killing her, taking away her life but at least it was giving her comfort.

Nothing else was giving her comfort and it was the only thing she could handle right now. Everything else was going to have to wait.

* * *

Ryan saw the flash of dishonesty in Trey's eyes a split second before he saw the gun. "Get down!" he yelled, but he wasn't even thinking about that. 

He was thinking about the voicemail from Summer.

_"He did something to Marissa, your brother, and I'm sorry that I have to tell you, and she promised me that she was going to tell you herself but I can't believe her completely because she's so messed up right now, so…maybe it's time you broke out some of that Chino-y goodness and kick your brother's ass…call me."_

He was thinking about the voicemail from Marissa.

_"I'm sorry. I should've told you…but I really wanted you and Trey to be…well, brothers…but he's…he's not a nice guy, Ryan…"_

He was thinking about the voicemail from Jess.

_"I know you've been looking for your brother. Just wanted to give you the heads-up. He's coming to the bait shop tonight to pick something up. Thought maybe you could come by and pick me up."_

He wasn't thinking about the gunshots, the shattering glass and the screams of Marisa and Summer and Seth.

He had more important things on his mind.

* * *

**1am**

* * *

She woke up with a headache. A familiar one. She clicked on the lamp with a stiff arm. 

Empty bed. Even though she was lying in it, it was definitely empty.

Her father was dead. Her husband was gone. Her boys couldn't even look at her. She hadn't seen them since the church.

They didn't need to see her. They didn't need her all summer, they didn't need her now.

Seth had never known his grandfather the way a grandson should. She hadn't wanted him to. No matter how much she'd loved him, she hadn't wanted him to be a role model for her son.

And Ryan, he didn't need to grieve. Caleb had hated him. At least he wasn't being two-faced and shedding tears over the death. Ryan never cried anyway.

They didn't need her.

And she knew that as soon as they found out that Sandy was gone, they'd leave her, too.

She'd save them the trouble. Why fight the inevitable?

She picked up the bottle off the nightstand and clicked off the lamp again.

* * *

Ryan walked down toward the rental car where Seth was waiting. 

"You okay?"

"Are you? Your grandpa's funeral today and the whole shootout tonight? What the hell were you even doing there?" Ryan asked, settling into the driver's seat. They hadn't talked to each other in the aftermath of the Bait Shop; they were both too busy consoling their girlfriends.

Trey had taken off before they could finish their conversation.

"Summer wanted to go, said she needed to get Marissa out of the house…what were you doing there?" Seth countered. He still hadn't regained all his color; he was pale from the streetlights.

"Looking for Trey."

Seth glanced at him but Ryan didn't turn his attention from the highway. "Marissa freaked when she saw him. Something I should know about?"

"I'll fill you in later," Ryan said. He didn't want to talk about it. Not until he accepted it himself.

Trey lied. He had always lied, but this time was different. Because Ryan believed him. He'd lost faith in his brother a long time ago, he'd lost faith in everything. The Cohens had restored his general faith that people could be redeemed. But not Trey. Not anymore.

"God, I'm so tired," Seth groaned as Ryan parked in the driveway.

"Where's your Dad's car?"

"There's no telling. See you in the morning, dude, we definitely need to put some non-dramatic Seth/Ryan time on the books."

"Deal," Ryan said absently, bypassing the main house and walking around the side.

The patio was trashed. The wake. He'd forgotten all about the post-funeral get-together.

Something must've happened since the caterers hadn't bothered to clean up. Champagne glasses and folding chairs were scattered everywhere. There were shards of glass from a vodka bottle beside the pool and overturned flowers by the kitchen doors.

He didn't want Kirsten to have to see this. Not after losing her father. Wherever Sandy was, he wouldn't want to come home to this either.

And Ryan knew he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway until he talked to Trey.

* * *

**8am**

* * *

She wasn't going to get out of bed today. It was a decision that she was completely okay with. 

The soft knock at the door. Rosa's questions and her hurt expression when she'd sent her away.

The answering service could handle any requests. She wasn't taking calls or visitors.

"Mom?"

Seth wasn't a visitor. She sat up and gave him the best smile she could manage.

"How are you doing today?" he asked, stepping in tentatively.

"Fine, honey, just tired."

Seth nodded but she could tell that he didn't believe him. "Where's Dad?"

Of course he'd ask about Sandy. Sandy was the one he trusted. Sandy was the one that had let him stay in Portland. Sandy was his friend, the hero. She was just his drunk mother, she didn't mean anything. "You can probably get him on his cell phone."

"Do you want some breakfast?" he asked. "I could bring you something, some coffee, maybe?"

"I'm really tired, Seth." She hadn't meant for the words to come out so sharply but she was grateful for the result.

"Get some rest," he murmured, leaving and closing the door quietly behind him.

* * *

Ryan pulled on his grey jacket as Seth walked in. 

"Where are you headed?" he asked.

"I have to talk to my brother."

"Now?" Seth asked, confused.

Ryan didn't have the time or the patience to explain, it was too much, it was all circumstantial but he was fucking convinced. It was like Oliver, he knew that he couldn't explain it in a way that Seth would understand.

All he knew was that he had to see Trey and but it to rest. Put everything to rest.

"Ryan?"

"I'm taking my bike, I'll be home in a little while, okay?" Ryan patted Seth on the back and left him standing in the poolhouse.

The patio was cleaned up, all the tables and chairs stacked by the side path in case the caterers came to retrieve them.

He didn't know what happened but he was glad he missed it. Kirsten hadn't emerged and Sandy was still uncharacteristically absent.

It didn't take him long to reach the little apartment. He was still alert and tense with all the unanswered questions.

He knew that he was a shitty liar, but Trey would use any opportunity to tell a lie. And Ryan had never figured out how to read him.

He knocked on the door.

Then he banged on the door.

It swung open and for the second time in less than 24 hours, he was staring at a gun. He didn't flinch. Fucking Trey.

It was time to put everything to rest.

* * *

**12pm

* * *

**

She felt sticky all over.

And she was sober. Her bottle empty after she'd woken up from her last bad dream.

The accident again. The squealing of tires and the crunching of metal.

She thought the seatbelt was going to tear her in two.

Maybe it was time to get out of bed.

She needed a replacement bottle anyway.

The shower was too hot and she leaned against the cool bathroom tile and let the water try to wash off the previous days.

She scrubbed her hair, digging her nibbled nails into her scalp.

Sandy loved to rub her head. It had always relaxed her.

On the beach in his arms, their hair wet from surfing and thick with salt. And he'd massage her scalp while she ran her fingers around his perfect ankles.

She let the water run over her face.

No thinking of Sandy. No thinking of her father cold in the ground. No thinking of her son trying to help her. No thinking today.

There was a reason she hated sobriety.

She put on her favorite tank top and sweatpants and draped the soft blanket from the Newport Country Club around her for extra warmth.

Her father had given her the robe two summers ago when the waitress at the country club had spilled wine on her tennis outfit.

They'd been at deuce for twenty minutes and after the fourth business call interrupting them, they'd retired to the restaurant for lunch.

He said her forehand was weak.

No thinking of him today.

She walked into the kitchen and opened the freezer. Nothing. The party must've cleaned out the reserves. Sandy's bar.

She walked into the room and stopped mid-step. "What are you doing?"

* * *

He turned, not startled. 

He'd faced death way too many times today to be startled by anything. "What does it look like?"

"You…you shouldn't be drinking, Ryan," she said, walking over and standing beside him at Sandy's bar.

"I know that," he replied. He flipped over one of the small glasses and scooped ice into it from the bucket he had in front of him. He sloshed some of the gin he was drinking into the glass and then topped it with a little cranberry juice and put it in front of her. "Join me."

"Ryan," she gasped.

"Why not. Nobody else is here. It's quiet and nothing personal, I don't mind drinking and being completely silent." He raised his glass in an imitation of a toast and then closed his eyes and downed the whole thing.

"Stop it," Kirsten said.

Ryan turned and looked at her. Her cheeks turned red and he kept looking at her.

"Don't look at me like that," she said finally, picking up the glass and taking a gulp. "You don't know anything about things like this…" she started.

"Of course I do," Ryan snapped. How dare this woman tell him that he hadn't suffered enough to need a drink. "Don't you see what I'm doing? I know what it's like to lose people, I've been losing them my whole life. I haven't said anything to you, Kirsten, I don't care if you drink, and it's not going to change the way I feel about you."

She snorted. "Yeah, right…"

"Take what you came for, Kirsten. I'm not going to argue with you today."

"You're only sixteen…"

"Seventeen."

"You're not old enough to drink," she snapped, angry now. She reached over and grabbed the bottle of gin.

He glanced at her coldly. "You know what? It's not like that at all. I think I'm too old to drink. I shouldn't need a bottle anymore. I've grown out of that stage," he said, walking out to the poolhouse.

* * *


End file.
